I can remember when I used to freak out when the boys got hurt. One time when they were toddlers, one of the boys pulled a chair down on them and a goose egg grew the size of a golf ball out of his head. I can remember sitting on the floor next the freezer with a bag of frozen peas hysterical. I think I was crying just as much as he was, of course I think it was the ice on his forehead more than the bump. I think you hate to see your babies getting hurt.
The first two years, I went into states of panic whenever I heard that blood curdling scream that was a telltale sign they were hurt. I lost most of my ability to think relatively straight and was in a motherly state of distress. Year three, was a little better, I still ran like I was in a marathon to get to them, and my heart felt like it would pound out of my chest.
Parenting, seems to season you though, like a well marinated steak. Now that the boys are 5, I don’t tend to run in a state of panic when they skin a knee. I stop and survey the situation, get the injured inside and arm myself with Batman or Phineas and Ferb band aids. I no longer go into cardiac arrest and I hardly ever cry and in a matter of a minute, the boys are off playing again. But, even still, as a Mom, I always have that flutter of anxiety always waiting to surface, for the big things, but thankfully I don’t go all sorts of crazy at the normal bumps and bruises anymore. It’s amazing what five mommy years can do to you!